Du Hast Mich
by cruorem
Summary: First fic. Constructive criticism needed. A drabble on the relationship between Echo and Vincent.Independent in relationship to the canon story line. Not Rammstein songfic.


Dolls with their fabric shredded and stuffing trailing out their heads were strewn all over the carpet, along with a silver pair of scissors. Echo sighed. It was obvious that Master Vincent was negatively excited. He appeared to be nowhere in sight. How thoughtful of him to leave his mess for her to deal with. She bent down to gather the mutilated toys. "Echo," The girl started and turned around, finding the noble curled up in the window seat behind her. His gaze was fixed on the sheets of rain pattering on the opaque glass pane. "You know I don't think I have ever informed you of how much I appreciate your service," he remarked absently. "You certainly deserve a reward." The scarce illumination outdoors cast gray, dappled shadows on his delicate features. The maid found herself transfixed by the way the little blotches would flit across his face, so much so she was only half listening to what he was saying. Besides, she was partially convinced she was dreaming; her master never considered anything in the way of treating her.

"Is there anyone, in the world", he continued, still facing away from the child, "besides me," he grinned, "who you'd like to see dead?" Echo became incredibly still all of a sudden. Seconds passed. The rhythm of the precipitation beating the roof was oddly calming. Minutes passed. Vincent glanced at the girl. "No one", she finally replied. His smile grew near as pronounced as the Cheshire's, "None other than me?"

"Only you master." "So I am your only source of misery." He commented lightly. Echo didn't answer. She instead focused her attention on the mangled dolls. And she failed to hear him come up behind her.

Next she was staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling. His lovely face appeared above her. She lay between his knees. The child noted that her master had somehow recovered his scissors. He held them over her forehead. A vision of the blades snipping through her arteries crossed Echo's mind. His long ginger hair tickled her skin. He was still smiling pleasantly. "Master, are you going to kill me?" she said quietly."What put such a notion into your head my dear?" he amiably queried. Echo knew he could. Echo knew he would. Vincent ran his abnormally long and abnormally sharp thumbnail gently along her jaw bone. He pressed the claw just slightly into her bottom lip. It didn't hurt her, but she felt warm blood trickle down her mouth. He licked the scarlet fluid from his finger. Then he bent down, whispering in her ear, "I am the only one you hate in this entire world correct?" She nodded slowly.

The maid only then noticed his hands, _those of a murderer,_ pinning her arms to the ground. As he spoke he increased the pressure on them. She would have cried out in pain if her fear had not overwhelmed her. _He is far stronger than I. If he desired my death he would have no trouble killing me. _Why a lump formed in her throat at the thought of death, Echo didn't know.

"I am also, the only one capable of caring about you." She froze. He straitened. "Don't misunderstand me; I want you to hate me." The girl did not dare breathe. "I suppose it merely gives me some satisfaction knowing that there really are those who can't run away." The man pensively remarked. His mood appeared to have passed, to Echo's relief. He looked down at her once again. He leaned over and kissed her mouth, tasting the blood again. Echo was at a loss to define the impression this had on her. Any emotion besides irritation, anger, fright or melancholy was completely foreign to the child.

She regained use of her brain by the time he stood, cradling his scissors in his pretty hands. "No one else will ever love you Echo. See? I alone am your friend."

A second later her master was nowhere to be seen. She lay on the floor in a near empty room, continuing to gaze at the ceiling tiles. _I suppose I liked that feeling._ She unconsciously frowned in confusion. _But that feeling came from the one I hate. _Her eyes traced the patterns she fancied in the paint strokes. _I, I don't like that feeling. It was supposed to be different. _Inherently she knew this. _The person was supposed to be different._ There were swirls of white, they reminded her of snow. She liked snow. After what seemed to be an hour she got to her feet. She needed to clean up before he returned.


End file.
